


this is where we leave you

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/F, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Funerals, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Poe Dameron Needs A Hug, Poe Dameron-centric, lots of introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25689013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Maybe he should be more used to this, the feeling of loss, a final goodbye. He's had a helluva lot of practice, that's for sure. But maybe he just didn't know he'd have to say goodbye so many times.OR: Poe, adopted son of Han and Leia (pre-divorce), has to say goodbye to many different parental figures—almost too many. His son has to as well, eventually, but only after Poe has drawn his last breath.
Relationships: Amilyn Holdo/Leia Organa, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Poe Dameron & Rey, Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	this is where we leave you

**Author's Note:**

> just a few things about this au: han and leia adopted poe (after his parents died in the war) and rey at a young age. their (already failing) marriage fell apart after kyl* left, and leia remarried her childhood best friend years after han passes away.
> 
> poe explains the rest.
> 
> happy reading.

> “You never know when it will be the last time you'll see your father, or kiss your wife, or play with your little brother, but there's always a last time. If you could remember every last time, you'd never stop grieving.” 
> 
> ― Jonathan Tropper, _This is Where I Leave You_

* * *

He knows grief. Might even say they’re old friends. But that doesn’t make today any easier. The funeral’s a month or so after Leia passed away, and Poe’s glad for it, because he knows he’d tire himself out with those days so close to each other. Besides, it gives him time to compose himself, organise boxes and memories and shit.

  
  
  


The townhouse is a place that holds lots of ‘em—memories, not shit. He remembers the first time he and Rey came here when he was in High School, back when Han and Leia had just separated, back when Ben (or Kylo or whatever the fuck) had just left them. It’s highlighted in his head as the turning point of everything. 

  
  
  


He remembers moving here permanently in junior year, when their entire house had been one huge reminder of loss. He remembers Finn staying over for the first time. He remembers discovering Amilyn stayed over for the first time—the image of his mother’s (soon to be) wife in nothing but a sports bra that obviously was not hers and an ankle-length skirt is, to his dismay, forever rooted into his brain.

  
  
  


He remembers the wedding, remembers that his mother was happier than she’d been for a while, maybe even happier that she’d been with Han. Poe isn’t stupid, or dense (no matter what people say), and while he knows his parents loved each other deeply and strongly, he also knows they weren’t good for each other. Their love was true, but not built to last. It was the first time he accepted that Amilyn was _not_ a replacement for him, nor will she ever be.

  
  
  


The Amilyn he sees through the kitchen window, floating through the garden, looks shaken and sad, the polar opposite of everything she is. Poe watches as she brushes her hands over each flower, remembers the walks Leia and Amilyn took together, every morning as the sun rose. Apparently it was sentimental—that’s what Leia’d said when he asked. He watches Amilyn’s head shoot up at a sound, and knows that means their guests have arrived.

  
  
  


Well, not so much guests. They’d invited only Leia’s closest friends, best of companions. Those who she considered family, and who fought alongside her in the war. It’s not a big group, never has been, but they’re tight-knit anyway. They all pile out of Uncle Lando’s huge van.

  
  
  


There’s Zay Versio, whose mom Poe remembers striding into the house like she owned the place—Aunt Iden was there often enough. He’d practically grown up with Zay, remembers being there for her when her parents died. Poe’d been twenty-two. She’d been there for him when Han died, too. “We’ve gotta have each other’s backs, the rebel kids,” she’d say.

  
  
  


(Uncle) Shriv and (Uncle) Lando are with Zay in the kitchen, bottles of beer in hand. It’s funny, Poe’s always thought of Lando as a unit, always with another person. He’s a guy who’s never by himself. At first, it’d always been Han-and-Lando, Lando-and-Han, but then Han started goin’ his own for a while (Chewie by his side), and it’d been Leia-and-Lando. 

  
  
  


But then Leia and Iden had their thing (Iden hosted wine-night—which had been a place to let themselves feel sad, feel anything, without having to feel guilty too, without having to worry about their kids; that's what Amilyn had said when he asked), and Lando didn’t like odd numbers, so he started bringing Shriv round. 

  
  
  


Poe had thought of him as some guy they all happened to know, in the beginning, but warmed up to him sooner or later—as everyone usually does, he was that type of guy. Then it started to be Lando-and-Shriv, attached at the hip. He can’t remember when they started dating, but everyone knew it was gonna happen eventually. (He also knows it won Aunt Iden a fuck-load’a money.)

  
  
  


He remembers them basically raising Zay through high school and college, too, after her parents passed away (Del through old wounds from the war, on the eve of his daughter’s eighteenth birthday, and Iden four months later. _See_ , Poe had thought, _that’s_ _love_.)

  
  
  


Chewie just watches them talk, adding in something every so often, but fine with letting the conversation flow without him. The guy’s been a constant in Poe’s life ever since he can remember, usually with a happy grin and chess board ready, warm hugs and always something snappy to say—probably why he got along so well with Han and Leia—but today he’s broody and sullen, not ready to let go of a best friend he’s been parted with too long.

  
  
  


The “official” funeral already happened, but that thing seemed so impersonal Poe doesn’t really think it counts. There were god-knows-how-many people in attendance, and he’s pretty sure most of them didn’t even _know_ Leia. It was just for Alderaanian customs, or something.

  
  
  


Rey had driven them—being Amilyn, himself, Finn, and Little Han—back to the townhouse after that, to take a breather. Poe knows she needs it too, time to herself to really let everything sink in. He still can’t believe it, most of the time. Still thinks he’ll find Leia in the garden with Amilyn, or drinking tea in the kitchen with Rey, not saying much but everything at once.

  
  
  


Ever since he can remember, Rey’s always been quiet and awkward and brash, but strong and resilient and intuitive and a million other things. Poe thinks she might be one of the most complex people he’s ever met, and he knows a _lot_ of people. It’d been hard at first, when Rey came into their lives, because Poe could never be sure what she’s thinking. Then again, he still can’t tell half the time.

  
  
  


Sometimes Poe thinks Rey is what Leia would have been like if she wasn’t a natural born leader, or Han if he’d been shown just a little more love in his life, intuitive when it came to other people. She balanced them, their family, still does in a lot of ways. She’d been the loving daughter Leia needed when she was surrounded by headstrong boys, full of hope and faith in humanity, a strong sense of duty just like Poe, just like Leia.

  
  
  


She was the quick-witted, mechanic-brained, stubborn kid Han needed when it came to confusing his motors with his heart, opening it up quickly and surely, but quietly and with subtlety. Han had tried to teach Poe the better way to deal with engines and cars and motors, but Poe muscles through them when there’s a problem—knows how to do hat tricks and can speed with grace and care, but is too much like Han for him to learn anything that way.

  
  
  


They’d been two peas in a pod, Han and Poe, so similar many people had trouble believing Poe was adopted. Same smile, same speech, same skills, they even had the same haircut, in a brief and dark time of Poe’s fashion sense. The only thing was that Poe’d been a Mama’s boy, through and through, ever since he was small.

  
  
  


Han and Rey were different. They understood each other in a way that Poe couldn’t begin to understand. That was part of Rey’s superpowers, even as a young girl, she understood people, even when they sometimes didn’t want to be understood. Hell, she’d even understood Ben, for a time. Before he fucking ran away from everything.

  
  
  


Leia, though? Their mama had always known what Rey was thinking, even if it had been the hardest thing for Poe.

  
  
  


He can’t tell now, not when the look on her face is impassive and blank, but Poe thinks he knows anyway; she’s hurting just as much as he is. “Hey kiddo,” he says when he sits next to her, which brings the corner of her lip upwards, just a little. No matter how old they get, Rey will always be his kid sister.

  
  
  


She sits outside, on the patio, one leg dangling off the bench and the other tucked high under her chin, doesn’t turn when she obviously hears Poe coming from behind her. “How you feeling?”

  
  
  


Rey sighs, closing her eyes as she tilts her head up to the sky, feeling the light drizzle of rain on her face, mixing with the tears on her face. The only answer he gets is a shrug, and Poe’s sure he at least understands enough about Rey to know not to push. “You’re gonna catch a cold, you know? Sittin’ in the rain by yourself.”

  
  
  


“Sit with me then,” she says, voice surprisingly strong.

  
  
  


“Then we’ll both catch colds.”

  
  
  


“Small price,” she says, and they both laugh, just a little grief-tinged, just before Rey starts crying again.

Ben shows up—late, of-fucking-course, hadn’t even bothered to show up to the _official_ funeral—in a sleek black car without a trace of emotion on his face. Poe immediately feels almost sorry for the undeniable wave of rage that passes through him, but only because he knows Leia would be disappointed.

  
  
  


Still, he can’t bring himself to care, not today, because she’s gone and a self-entitled jerk who doesn’t have any right to be here just showed up to her funeral late. “What the _fuck_ are you doing here, Ben?”

  
  
  


“Mom’s funeral,” he grates, as if it makes sense. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Amilyn, Finn, and Rey ready themselves to jump in. All in different ways, of course. (From the three of them, he’s got a feeling Rey would be the most supportive of bringing a fist to Ben’s face).

  
  
  


“You can’t be here,” Poe says dangerously, almost yelling because he’s just really fucking angry.

  
  
  


It makes Ben mad, the way Poe takes control, knows his entitlement. He can tell from how Ben grits his teeth and clenches his fists, the way he tenses and growls, and Poe could let himself feel a pang of dark, sick satisfaction. “Don’t fucking talk like that to me.”

  
  
  


“Why the fuck not, dick? You can’t disappear off to nowhere seven fucking years ago, and suddenly show for her fucking funeral!” 

  
  
  


“She’s _my_ Mom, fuck off!” Ben yells, like a fucking five year old, and Poe lunges at him, because never, in all the time he’s known Ben, has he ever acted like Leia’s son.

  
  
  


There’s a little scuffle, where Poe just manages to graze Ben’s jaw with his fist before Finn drags him back. Rey holds Ben, too, but with a little more force, making Ben hiss in moderate pain. Good.

  
  
  


“ _Hey_ ,” Finn says, trying to calm him down, and Poe ignores him until he pulls him back a little more. “Hey, c’mon. I know you’re better that that, Poe.”

  
  
  


“Am I?” Poe asks, shaking a little because Finn still won’t let go, “‘cause if being better than that means not punching him right now then I’m not.” He turns to Ben. “And don’t fucking say that. She’s not just _your Mom_ . She’s _my_ Mom. She’s _Rey’s_ Mom. She’s Amilyn’s _wife_. You don’t get to fucking stand there like you’re family because you’re the kid who ran off at the first sign of trouble! 

  
  
  


You’re the kid who fuckin’ thought his parents were the worst and fucked him up when all they did was love him! You’re the kid who gave his mom so much fuckin’ guilt ‘cause you couldn’t even bother to pick up the phone to let her know you were okay! Or to let her apologise even though she didn’t have a fucking thing to say sorry for! You lived with your friend in some cushy apartment while _your_ Mom was fucking struggling!

  
  
  


You ain’t family, Ben. Look around. These people? They’re her fucking family. _We’re_ her fucking family. And we don’t owe you a damn thing!

  
  
  


And don’t look like that; she’s gone, she’s fucking gone and it’s too damn late to apologise or to tell her you love her and you’re sorry for every fucking thing you did wrong cause she’s not fucking coming back!”

  
  
  


And fuck, now he‘s crying. He feels tears in his eyes and the sob clawing its way from out of his chest. But he’s resolved to not cry. He’s staying strong to that promise, at least until two lithe, warm, _motherly_ arms wrap around his shoulders, turning him into her chest and he finally allows himself to weep himself dry in someone else’s arms.

  
  
  


Amilyn and Poe have never been the closest, not by a long shot. There’d even been a time where he hated her. But now, just the comfort of her embrace reminds him of Leia and he cries even harder. She feels so strong and reassuring, just like home. Just like Leia.

  
  
  


He’s being fucking selfish, he knows it. Here he is crying all over the woman who lost the love of her fucking life, but Amilyn’s hand raises to cup the back of his head, like she can tell what he’s thinking, and Poe brings himself to be just a little selfish without the guilt that always accompanies it. Leaning in, he lets the tears give way to relief. 

  
  
  


“I’m sorry,” he says later, when it’s just them drinking tea, and everyone else has gone to their respective rooms in the Townhouse, and Amilyn has had her own talk with Ben. They’re drinking chamomile tea—Finn says it’ll help him sleep—and Poe thinks he’s never felt more at peace since before Leia died. “For cryin’ all over you.”

  
  
  


Amilyn smiles, soft and kind and patient as she always is, and only says, “We all grieve differently. I’m just leading you through yours.”

  
  
  


Poe considers this. “You?”

  
  
  


She tilts her head to the side, and her smile becomes sadder, heavier. It pulls at Poe's heart, and he swears to make it better. “We all grieve differently.”

  
  
  


“Oh,” he says, because he understands that his place is not in Amilyn’s own support system. He understands that he may not be for Amilyn what she is for him. And for once, he’s okay with it. Maybe he was always okay with it, but he was too busy protecting Han’s place to realise she was making her own. Too preoccupied with the give what you get mentality. “Okay.”

  
  
  


He wants to say something else though, because ever since Ben showed up, there’s something else weighing on his mind too, especially considering what he said earlier. “I… I feel like I disappointed her. No, I _know_ I disappointed her. And I just, now that she’s not… around, I don’t know how to make it up to her.”

  
  
  


Amilyn sighs, and simply says, “You can’t.” Poe laughs, but there’s no humor behind it.

  
  
  


“That supposed to make me feel better?”

  
  
  


She smiles. “Just the truth. Of course you disappointed Leia, I’m pretty sure everyone did, I _know_ I did, but that didn’t stop her from hoping for better. And that’s what makes people change, her faith in them. But you can’t make it up to her for something like that, not even if she were still with us. You’ve _got_ to let it go, Poe, or it’ll fester into something that ruins your beautiful memories of her. Y—”

  
  
  


“Daddy?” A voice calls. Little Han stands at the bottom of the staircase, rubbing his eyes tiredly, brown curls piled haphazardly to the side of his head.

  
  
  


Poe checks his watch, notes that it’s 12:45. “Hey buddy. What’s up? Somethin’ wrong?”

  
  
  


The five year old shakes his head. “I’m firsty.”

  
  
  


Getting up, joints cracking just a little, he says, “Alright kid, lets go get you some water.” Amilyn stops him with a hand just as he fully stands.

  
  
  


“Actually, let’s go with your Grams, ok?” Little Han nods, moving to take Amilyn’s hand in his own teeny one as they walk towards the kitchen fridge. He watches as she engages her grandson in quiet conversation, laughing or smiling quietly as appropriate. Somehow, he knows what she’s thinking. The kid reminds her of Leia, he always has, and Poe hopes he always will.

  
  
  


Meeting the woman’s eye as she turns around, checking on him, he’s a little surprised to see the telltale reflective sheen that betrays the tears in her eyes.

* * *

Amilyn passes away two years later, partly from old age, partly from a broken heart, and Poe’s sure she wouldn’t have it any other way.

  
  
  


“I know we all expected Amilyn to go first,” Poe says, with a sad ridden laugh. “She’d be the type to just let it happen, say ‘it was written in the stars’.” He sighs, planning to laugh again but it just didn't come out right. “That’s the kind of person she was. A confidante, an advisor, admiral, believer, friend, wife and, maybe most importantly, protector… She did a lotta things for me, some I didn’t even appreciate until now, but I don’t think I could imagine my life without her.

  
  
  


I wish I coulda thanked her more. Thanked her for putting up with shitty teenage me, who was determined to be a pain in her ass. For everything she did for Mom, for me an’ Rey an’ Finn, and especially Little Han. But I’m sure, wherever she is, she knows it.”

  
  
  


The structure of the “after-funeral” is pretty similar to Leia’s, a small group of friends having come over for alcohol and crying. It’s smaller than last time, because Shriv passed away. He remembers his funeral all too well, it having been a few months ago. He remembers Zay tearily giving an address at yet another father-figure passing away, just the right amount of funny and serious, just the way Shriv would have liked.

  
  
  


(“ _He used to joke about dying all the time.” Zay had said. “I remember him saying to me, years ago when he thought he_ was _gonna die, ‘Space Baby, save the pretty words for my funeral. Make sure I get one, okay? And make Leia go, Lando too, the smug bastard’ll probably outlive me, and all the rest of those bigwigs. Make ‘em say nice things, like he was a giant among mere mortals, or that he was strikingly handsome despite the persistent rash he acquired on Inya Prime.’_

  
  
  


_Well Shriv, I can’t make Leia be here, and I couldn’t get those bigwigs because most of them are assholes, but I hope us being here is enough. And I hope these words I’m gonna say are enough. I’m gonna miss you, Shriv. I_ know _that you thought of me as your kid, but I think you should know I thought of you as mine, too. Not my kid, obviously but… After dad passed away, I think you became more than an Uncle._

  
  
  


_You’re_ my _Space Dad, Shriv, and… I hope you have fun up there.”)_

  
  
  


She’s always been a bit better with words. He’s not too good at these kinda things. He blames her mother (Aunt Iden was known for her overdramatic yet extremely and emotionally inspirational speeches).

  
  
  


“You alright there, Poe?” Rey’s smooth alto cuts through his thoughts, and there’s a warm hand laying itself atop his shoulder. It feels like deja vu, when two years ago it had been Rey sitting on this patio, and Poe had been the one telling her to let out her emotions. 

  
  
  


“Yeah,” he says, getting up, “yeah I’m ok. You?”

  
  
  


Rey pushes him back down with a glance, and once he sits, she positions herself right next to him, legs crossing under her. She nods as an answer, but Poe knows they’re both lying to themselves. “Though, I can’t bring myself to really think of her as gone, not yet. We’ll heal, though. We always do.”

  
  
  


“You’re right,” Poe says, because she always is. He feels the tears building up inside him, but this time there’s no Amilyn to help him get it out. The thought makes his chest feel like lead, weighing it down because Amilyn always made him feel free and flightful. Now he’s grounded, but in the wrong way. “I just… feel like I wanna say more, you know. Like there’s so much I haven’t done.”

  
  
  


He gives a bitter laugh, because he’s reminded of the last time he felt like this. “Amilyn told me to let my pride go, you know? On that day, the funeral. She said I couldn’t control everything and I shouldn’t expect that I can, being big headed might lead me to a dark place, and I should pull my head outta my ass.”

  
  
  


Rey looks like she’s about to say something, but Poe anticipates it. “Maybe not exactly in those words…”

  
  
  


They laugh, and Poe feels like she’s here with them, laughing along. “I was just about to say, doesn’t really sound like her.”

  
  
  


“Nah, that’s all me.”

  
  
  


“Poe, are you,” Rey starts but she never gets to finish the question, because a voice calls them both inside, tells them it’s going to rain even though he can feel the heat of the sun on his face, feels the cloudless sky painted blue. In the back of his mind, he thinks it’s the perfect day to let go of Amilyn. 

  
  
  


He puts on a smile and leads Rey inside, pretending everything is fine.

  
  
  


Maybe he can let go of this guilt, too.

* * *

The last time Poe brought his biological parents flowers was at their funeral, almost three and a half decades ago. Being three years old, he doesn’t remember much. He only remembers the blue-jacketed pair of arms that had carried him back home, smelling like engine oil and sarcasm and strong air conditioning.

  
  
  


He remembers sitting in a car too, with loads of additional modifications, next to a boy with a tall nose and black hair and a general broody-ness about him. He remembers falling asleep in another pair of arms, smaller this time, wrapped up in brown hair smelling like a perfume he wouldn’t forget long after both wearers had passed.

  
  
  


People who’d known them revel in teling Poe all about them. That Shara and Kes had been good people, good fighters, good friends, but life had taken them away too early, they had fought with too much left to lose. Leia and Han had told him stories when he was small, and later Amilyn too, when he asked, and Poe can’t help but wonder what kind of person he would be if they hadn’t died in the midst of a war. 

  
  
  


Maybe he would feel more when staring down at their graves, maybe even cry. Maybe he wouldn’t be the fiercely loyal, hotheaded, witty, natural born leader and bad liar Leia and Han raised him to be. Maybe he wouldn’t have found Finn or Rey or anyone he considers family now. Maybe he wouldn’t have Little Han.

  
  
  


That’s not a pleasant thought.

  
  
  


He visits Shara and Kes’ graves once a year, always in the springtime, and always with Finn and Rey by his side. (It started as a tradition with Leia, something to connect him to his past, to give him peace of mind. It hurts to think about the first time.) This year, he brings Little Han, too.

  
  
  


Poe likes to think that they would have liked him, that they would have doted on him like a loving pair of grandparents would—like Leia and Amilyn did. (Han never got to meet his namesake.) But the reality is that he doesn’t know, can’t know, because he can’t remember them, doesn’t know them at all. He doesn’t even know if they’re homophobic.

  
  
  


He tells himself they would have liked him either way.

  
  
  


“Hey Mom, Dad,” he starts, awkwardly and with a palm on his neck, because calling them ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’ never really feels right, not to him. Behind him, he feels Finn place a hand on his back, reassuring. “This is Han. He’s your grandson.”

  
  
  


Little Han peeks out from behind his aunt, still clutching on her beige pants for safety, a small bouquet flower fisted in one hand. He’s small, Poe knows, but so was _he_ at that age. Dark brown hair, tied back in a tail so he can see, reflects the light of the sun back into the sky and he walks out of their shadows to say hello. 

  
  
  


“Yeah, that’s it buddy.” Poe squats down so they’re side to side, ignores the cracking of his increasingly aging joints, and Han reaches out for him, pulls a little on the scruff of his neck (such is their ‘secret’ code). “This is your Gramma and Grandpa.”

  
  
  


His son nods, understanding more than an eight year old should, Poe thinks, and looks up at him with Finn’s wide, beautiful brown eyes, framed in a round face and beautiful brown skin. “When did they die?”

  
  
  


It’s a little jarring, but Poe knows his kid is lacking in filters, doesn’t fault him for it. Instead, he smiles, placing a hand on his shoulder. “My parents passed away when I was two years old.” There’s no shock, no surprise or confusion, only quiet contemplation. “They died fighting for what they believed in,” he says, because that’s what everyone said about war heroes, isn’t it?

  
  
  


He hums, considering this. Poe would almost find it scary how similar his kid is to his late Nana, but he loves how it reminds him of Leia, loves that Han carries a part of her in him. It hurts, too, whenever he says something or does something Poe _knows_ Leia would do too, but he ignores the pain and instead opts for the memories. “Do you miss them?”

  
  
  


_God, this kid is so intuitive_. Finn looks at him, and they share a smile over the top of Han’s head, thinking the same thing. Rey ruffles his hair. “Nah, kid, I don’t,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “I think about them, sometimes, and I feel sad that they were taken away from me, but… I don’t miss them.”

  
  
  


“I’m glad, you know,” Rey says later, when they’re having tea (Amilyn’s special brand they still buy, even though she’s been gone a year), “that Ma and Dad brought you into their lives.” The moment she says this, Poe breathes a sigh of relief, because he’s been feeling it too. And it’s been eating him up inside. “It’s selfish, but…”

  
  
  


“It’s the truth,” he nods. “I, I know it’s wrong but I’m glad whatever forces out there brought me to them. And to you.”

  
  
  


“And to Finn,” Rey teases, because she loves how they love each other.

  
  
  


Poe laughs. “You’re right. What would I do without the love of my life?”

  
  


* * *

It’s weird, seeing his dad lying there, in a hospital bed, some sort of tube—Han doesn’t really know what kind, hadn’t bothered to ask because knowing would make reality even more blinding—sticking into him. He looks so goddamn skinny, so small and weak, not at all like the father he grew up with. He’s tentative when walking to the bed, but his Dad—who sits beside, holding Pa’s hand—beckons him forward.

  
  
  


Ami walks through the doorway first, tired of staring through the window. Her hair is dyed pink and pulled back into a complex structure of braids. Both the colour and style were inspired by an old picture she’d found of her great-grandmothers. When she walks towards her grandfather, her steps are slow and sure, but Han remembers being twenty-two, and he knows how afraid she could really be.

  
  
  


“Amilyn?” Poe says when she sits on the other side of him, his voice rough and hoarse with age and sickness. Ami beams, but everyone in the room knows she isn’t the Amilyn he’s talking about. He’s glad his daughter doesn’t let it get to her, chooses to skip over the bad for the good.

  
  
  


“Yeah, it’s me Grandpa… Your granddaughter,” Ami says, taking his hand. Her fingers are lean and strong where his are stubby and delicate, but Han thinks they fit together perfectly anyway. “How’re you feeling?”

  
  
  


Poe laughs, a frightfully croaky thing, and grins tiredly, “Well this bed... wasn’t made for comfort, I’ll... tell you that.” Finn puts a glass of water to his lips after Poe can’t calm down a coughing spree. Every wheeze that makes its way out from his chest hurts Han, it reminds him there’s no getting better, not for his father.

  
  
  


Han must move a little, out of discomfort or preemptive grief, because Poe sees him out of the corner of his eye. Some sort of sound falls from his lips—something that sounds like a call for his mother—and Han shakes his head. “No, Pa, it’s me Han. Your son, Han.”

  
  
  


If Amilyn ever has children, he’s making a note to remind her: be more original with names, please, renaming gets a little confusing after a while. The world can only have so many Hans.

  
  
  


“Little Han,” Poe wheezes out, using a childhood nickname, and Han struggles to hear what comes next because the tears are somehow blocking his ear canals. “How... you doing, kiddo? How’s the... shop?” ‘The Shop’ he talks about is the one Han helped Lando manage from when he was sixteen until he graduated High School. Some sort of repair shop, but mostly something for Lando to do after Aunt Zay went to college and he could no longer be a reckless flyboy.

  
  
  


“Shop’s good, Pa. Lando’s working it right now.” Almost immediately, Han feels guilt at the lie, but the slow grin on his father’s face is almost enough to make it worth it. Lando’s been gone for almost five years. Pa said it was gonna happen at some point, that even the most stubborn people have to die, but Dad said the loneliness finally got to him. Han thinks it’s both.

  
  
  


“That’s good. Tell him... hi’ for me... will ya?”

  
  
  


Han laughs, and it’s a sound wetted by the unmistakable sound of tears. “You can tell him yourself, Pa.” And he feels no guilt because he isn’t lying now.

  
  


Kes arrives about a half hour later, having just gotten out of class. His scruffy hair—exactly like Pa’s, Han reminds himself—has been blown out of proportion by the wind, caught on his motorbike, no doubt. A tattered backpack sits on his broad shoulders as he walks into the room.

  
  
  


“Hey Pa!” He says, cheerily, and even though Han knows that helps him cope, he feels a sudden, short-lived wave of resentment towards his undeserving brother. “It’s me, Kes. I just got outta class, sorry if I was late or anything.”

  
  
  


“Kessie,” Poe says when he leans down for a hug, throwing his helmet to the side of the room so haphazardly that both Han and the nurses send him a glare. Amilyn only laughs at her uncle. “How’s... school?”

  
  
  


“Same old, same old.” He’s in his last year of college, double majoring in Linguistics and Human Relations or something. Han doesn’t really know because Kes doesn’t often talk about the actual substance he’s learning. “I got a professor who’s a pain in the ass like you would not believe, Pa. I can’t listen to him for more than two minutes!”

  
  
  


“Sounds like... a drag.”

  
  
  


“Like I said, Pa, you would not _believe_.”

  
  
  


Thankfully, Han is saved from the pain of feeling old by Aunt Rey, who strides in as if she’s about to command the room but also apologise with every breath she takes. Behind her comes her daughter, Smi Skywalker, a girl of about seven, with brown braided hair and tanned skin. She holds herself in a careful way, but her eyes are bright and ready to learn, even now.

  
  
  


Aunt Rey hadn’t really ever wanted to marry, not after the whole thing with… _well_. But Han knew she’d always wanted children, and he thinks that any kid with a mom like Rey is lucky. Almost as lucky as him.

  
  
  


Rey sits beside his dad, who has said nothing much—Han can’t blame him, he already feels like if he were to open his mouth, he’ll cry and he’ll never stop (he knows he isn’t as strong as everyone else)—only stroking his husband’s hand as if that’ll keep him here, with them. His Aunt bends her head down, and mutters a few things to him. Han has enough decency to understand it’s private, and looks away.

  
  
  


Before he knows it, Rey’s looking at _him_ , and with those steely eyes on him, he doesn’t know what else to do other than maintain eye contact. It feels like he is being carefully considered as his aunt is, he’s assuming, trying to understand what he’s feeling at this very moment. Usually, whatever her guess is, it’s right.

  
  
  


He’s seen pictures of his aunt when she was younger, when they _all_ were younger, and he wonders how either of his fathers could deal with such a force of nature as Rey. Her hair’s almost completely grey now, tied back into a half-hearted braid-bun as if her hands had been too sad to try it properly, but her eyes and her soul and her will are just as strong, maybe even strengthened by her age, which she wears well.

  
  
  


“Han,” she says finally, after studying him for a while. His name always sounds weird on her lips, like she’s calling for someone else but not quite. (Another reason not to name your kid after a relative, Amilyn). “Would you like to take a walk with me?” And Han nods, because there’s no saying no to Aunt Rey.

  
  
  


Outside, everything feels dimmer. Quieter in a way the bright lights and sterile white walls of the hospital could not be. Rey nudges him with a shoulder, and looks up at him. (Sometimes, it’s so easy to forget that he’s taller than her, with how much larger-than-life she can feel). “You’re not letting yourself feel,” she says, and Han shakes his head.

  
  
  


“Yes I am,” he says, gesturing to the dried tears on his cheeks.

  
  
  


Rey frowns at him. “That isn’t it, Han. You feel grief, you feel broken and torn apart, and that sadness is only a fraction of everything you feel inside. I _know_ what you’re feeling, because... I felt it too, believe it or not. I wouldn’t let myself feel, I thought I had to be strong and brave. Your father wanted to help me, and because I was stubborn and private, I suffered more than I needed to. There are people here who want to help you feel, Han. Let them.”

  
  
  


Han is momentarily taken aback by all she says, but he takes it all in, understands what she’s saying. But he also feels something else, deep inside him. “I… I also feel afraid,” he says, and Rey leans forward, prompting him to continue. “I’m afraid I’ll run out of them. The feelings. That I’ll let all my grief and sadness go that I’ll be numb too soon.” He sighs. “I know it’s irrational, but—”

  
  
  


“But understandable,” Rey finishes for him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re scared, I get that too. I’m so afraid of losing him. But we have to embrace that fear. You won’t ‘run out’ of feelings, Han, and you know why?” Han shakes his head. “Because your heart is so incredibly large, because you feel so dearly and closely. You love your father, don’t you?”

  
  
  


“Of course.”

  
  
  


“Then you have nothing to worry about. Of course you won’t always feel grief, but that doesn’t mean you’ll love him any less. We have to be ready to let go. To leave behind a soul and treasure the memories.”

  
  
  


And that is what he does. At the hospital, where his monitor flattens and the shrill beeping fills his ears, where the nurses and doctors and medical professionals usher them out, where, for a moment, Han feels his heart stop beating in protest, in loyalty. At the funeral, where he doesn’t say much, only grieves and cries and listens, where he watches the sky grey on the lovely beach, where he helps his father walk home on shaky legs. And at home, where he allows himself to feel in the arms of Kita, who holds him all the while as he sobs for a father long gone.

  
  
  


"But his spirit is with you," she says, and he believes it.

  
  
  


‘You will heal,’ Rey had said, 'you always will,' and he believes it.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading :) as always, comments and kudos are much loved but never mandatory :)


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